


The Real Confusion Ending

by divine_chemistry



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: (October 6th 2019: Expect updates to this thing soon!!!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mind Meld (One-Sided), Muteness, References to other endings, References to the Stanley Parable Demo, Sign Language, Stanley is done with desk jobs, The Narrator (The Stanley Parable) Remembers Resets, The Narrator narrates Stanley's thoughts out loud by habit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divine_chemistry/pseuds/divine_chemistry
Summary: The sirens had stopped, and even the Narrator fell quiet at the sudden change in course.In a scripted story, the protagonist isn't supposed to have actual choice (though perhaps this story wasn't as scripted as the Narrator had assumed).





	1. I Know You're Scared (of the Unknown)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Wattpad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, all the titles are song lyrics)

Scrambling.

 

That's what Stanley was doing: scrambling—attempting to interact with just about anything he could get his hands on within the Countdown Room.

 

The fluorescent numbers ordered one through five,

 

the array of colored buttons at every booth,

 

the fail-safe panel,

 

the voltage control stations—

 

"But of course, as the Narrator had expected, it was pointless. Sure, some doors had opened at the beginning, but it had all just been for show. Heck, the one on the catwalk didn't even _go_ anywhere.

 

"The Narrator continued his monologue. It wasn't the first time, of course, and he'd managed to memorize it after what was decidedly the seventy-fifth run."

 

("How long until detonation, then? Hm...let's say, um...two minutes.")

 

The panic on Stanley's face had disappeared within seconds, and instead, irritation had taken its place.

 

"'Why don't you give me any _actual_ advice once we get to this point?' Stanley wondered in frustration. And upon hearing this question, the Narrator simply laughed. Ha ha, because you see Stanley, it's not as if _I'm_ responsible for you ending up here. No, no I had been _generous_ enough to give you the choice of freedom.

 

"Your actions are the only thing that have brought you to this point, Stanley. I'm simply here for the _show_.

 

"'You're _pathetic'_ Stanley spat (internally, of course), though the Narrator merely ignored him, and Stanley continued to scurry around the room with no clear directive, proceeding to waste what little time he had left like a _fool_.

 

"Stanley halted in his scrambling then, perhaps at the Narrator's remark, though who could say for sure?

 

("One minute...maybe try the fail-safe button again? I'm sure it must have _some_ role in deactivating the system.

 

"At this, Stanley proceeded to raise his hand, and...oh my Stanley, how _vulgar_.)

 

"Forty-two seconds, Stanley. You might want to hurry it up down there.

 

"Though Stanley had instead taken up a leisurely pace as the countdown pressed on. And with every second that passed, he simply inched ever closer to his inevitable demise. Maybe he would spend the time he had now looking back on his life, perhaps reminiscing about happier times spent with his wife and kids—"

 

Stanley kicked one of the walls at the suggestion.

 

"'I don't _have_ a wife. _Or_ kids.' He thought. 'You _know this_.'

 

"Ah, well then Stanley, I'm sure it will come to you as a _great surprise_ when I inform you that you _DO_ —!"

 

 

Stanley kicked the wall once more.

 

 

"It appeared that this was a relatively touchy subject for Stanley, and so the Narrator held back from delving any further into the details of his personal life.

 

 

"But it wasn't as if any of it would matter anyway. The entire building was about to explode in just thirty seconds, and there was no possible way that a man such as Stanley, would be able to somehow find a way to shut it down.

 

 

"It was only a matter of time now--"

 

 

...

 

 

  
Suddenly, the sirens had _stopped_ , and the room fell prey to a very unfamiliar silence. "Even the Narrator had fallen (temporarily) quiet at the sudden change in atmosphere, as unbeknownst to Stanley, this was _not_ part of the story.

 

("Or, well, _now_ it technically was—but it surely hadn't been a part of the _script_...)

 

"...Stanley," the Narrator started, "...nothing in this room was actually supposed to be capable of turning off the timer...how did you—"

 

The Narrator then looked over to find that Stanley had somehow _managed to push the fail-safe button,_ with the screen above it now reading: **"Failsafe Initiated; Failsafe Is Online".**

 

Even Stanley looked bewildered at what had just happened...

 

The timer had froze.

 

The music was gone.

 

And then, the lights went out.

 

 

"'What's going on...?' Stanley wondered. 'Did the game restart?'

 

"Though the Narrator wasn't quite sure himself. _None of this_ was supposed to be happening, after all, and yet..."

 

 

As sunlight streamed into the chamber, both the Narrator and Stanley began to wonder if they had somehow ended up at the Freedom Ending.

 

But when approaching the door through which the sunlight was streaming in, instead of endless meadows and blue skies, the two were met with the sight of an attached parking lot, inside which sat a small row of cars, a vending machine, and some miscellaneous boxes stashed away in a corner— a strangely nostalgic song playing in the background.

 

 

<-=•=->

 

 

Conveniently, one of the car's had had its doors unlocked when they'd found it, its keys resting on the driver's seat.

 

(They'd found some change in the glove compartment as well, and Stanley had finally gotten around to finding out what kind of "Cold Drinks" were actually dispensed from the vending machine.

Apparently, it was just water.)

 

Stanley carefully backed the car out of the parking lot once they were buckled inside, though the shock of everything that just transpired had still left them speechless as they drove through a bustling metropolis that had apparently _always_ resided _right outside of the office_...

 

 

 

"Where are we going, Stanley?" The Narrator asked softly, though in simply meeting Stanley's gaze, he realized that Stanley had just as good an idea as he did.

 


	2. I'm Seeing Sounds (I'm Freaking Out)

The Narrator watched as Stanley pulled into a faintly familiar parking lot next to a faintly familiar building.  
  


 

He’d have asked Stanley why it was he’d brought them here, but the man had left the car before he had the chance. The Narrator followed behind him as Stanley walked in through the front door.  
  


 

“Hello there, Stanley.”  
  


 

The Narrator looked in disbelief at an elderly woman who was handing Stanley a set of keys.    
  


 

_Who is this?_  
  


 

Stanley signed back to her: “Thank you”, heading towards the elevator soon after. The Narrator followed in pursuit.  
  


 

“Who the _hell_ was _that?”_  
  


 

Stanley signed the word for "landlord", but the man beside him didn’t seem to comprehend the gesture, and so he decided to feign obliviousness towards the question. The Narrator grumbled at the facade.  
  


 

“‘Can you still read my thoughts’ Stanley wondered. And to both his and the Narrator’s surprise, it appeared that he could.”  
  


 

Stanley’s mind went silent at that (though it almost felt _relieved_ somehow).  
  


 

It was only until the two stepped out of the elevator that the Narrator recognized where they were, walking down the hall only to stand before the door to apartment 427.  
  


 

Stanley quickly unlocked the door, however simply stood by the entrance upon opening it. The Narrator then peeked from behind Stanley’s shoulder, getting a glimpse of the dark room that Stanley apparently called home.  
  


 

It wasn’t as clean as the Narrator had pictured it to be...  
  


 

empty instant ramen containers littered the floor, complimented by dirty clothes resting on the couch.  
  


 

“‘I forgot what a mess it was in here’, Stanley muttered internally, reaching down to scoop up a good portion of the clutter scattered around—”  
  


 

Stanley’s stern gaze prompted the Narrator to begin assisting him in picking up instead of announcing it.  
  


 

“‘You really need to work on that,’ Stanley thought, though in all sincerity, the Narrator didn’t quite understand what he was referring to.”  
  


 

Stanley then pointed to the Narrator, about to sign for “narration” until he recalled the man’s inability to comprehend the action.  
  


 

Stanley opted to point to his own head.  
  


 

“Your head…?”  
  


 

Stanley tapped at his temple.  
  


 

“… _inside_ your head.”  
  


 

Stanley then pointed to the Narrator, before using his hand to motion the act of speaking.

 

  
  
“…you want me to stop narrating your thoughts aloud…?”  
  


 

Stanley nodded vigorously.  
  


 

“But _why?”_  
  


 

Stanley rolled his eyes, pointing once more to the Narrator before spinning his finger by the side of his own head.  
  


 

“…it makes me look crazy?”  
  


 

Another nod. Stanley had to admit, this was working surprisingly well—  
  


 

The Narrator scoffed, then. “Let’s agree to _dis_ -agree, Stanley. Because I'll have you know I look _perfectly_ sane when I narrate your unintentional 'monologue-ing'.”  
  


 

—though, maybe not _that_ well.  


 

<-=•=->

 

The Narrator had had to push off mass amounts of junk from the couch, as well as brush off a surplus of crumbs resting atop the cushions before he could even begin to think about sleeping on Stanley’s couch.  
  


 

“Why couldn’t _I_ get the bed?” He grumbled to himself, slightly aggravated as he attempted to find a comfortable position. It was nearly impossible.  
  


 

Though upon getting at least somewhat relaxed, the Narrator took a moment to look back on everything that had led up to this, taking in the sound of cars rushing down the highway near the building.

  
  
What was _happening?_ Had the parable finally reached an end?

  
  
What if they woke up in the office in the morning?

  
  
“Well that would be a good thing, obviously. You and Stanley can finally get back to _your_ story,” he whispered to himself. He’d almost _forgotten_ about the story in the midst of everything…

 

  
  
…but...did he really _want_ that story anymore?

  
  
“Well _of course_ you do. It’s _your story!”_

  
  
But wasn’t this _also_ the Narrator’s story? Was he not a character in this adventure _as well?_  
  
  


 

  
  
The apartment fell truly silent for the rest of that night.

 


	3. I Like that You're Lonely, (Lonely Like Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4/27!!!

It was official: Stanley’s real apartment held almost no resemblance to the original story's.  
  


 

The blue light of the day gently seeped in through the window and gently spread across the walls, and pigeons cooed softly from the streets while cars drove by. The Narrator could even hear the person above them on the 5th floor leave their apartment, before walking out to the elevator.  
  


 

A bowl of cereal sat in the Narrator's lap, while Stanley perched got comfortable on his countertop with “un-toasted” bread.  
  


 

"I can't believe you don't even have a toaster," the Narrator muttered. Stanley grunted in response.  
  


 

"Go buy one. Surely you must've made _some_ money back at the office."  
  


 

Stanley gave him a look, Tearing off a portion of his breakfast.  
  


 

It was subsequently thrown at the Narrator, and it was clear the man was anything but amused at the reaction. "Pathetic." The Narrator spat, flicking the bread onto the floor.  
  


 

(As if Stanley's apartment wasn't _already_ a mess.)

  
  


 

<-=•=->

  
  


 

It soon occurred to both Stanley and the Narrator that they were grown men without any form of income.  
  


 

Stanley's savings were practically nonexistent, and unfortunately Stanley's "profession" had never provided him with any form of a retirement plan.  
  


 

"We're screwed," the Narrator cried. "Stanley we're screwed."  
  


 

"'You think I don't know that,' Stanley snapped, his—internal voice's—tone laced with irritation. 'Just calm down, we'll think of something--' Oh really Stanley? Will we?!"  
  


 

The Narrator was pacing in the uncomfortably small space within Stanley's bedroom, with Stanley sitting idly on the bed. Of course, he too was doubtful of their circumstances, but he tried to keep the fear from his head. The Narrator was already panicked as it was.  


 

  
"Just breathe," Stanley signs, though the Narrator is still unable to understand, and so Stanley settles on placing his hand upon the man's shoulder instead.  
  


 

They're both scared, there's no point in denying it. But just dreading inevitable bankruptcy wasn't going to fix that.  
  


 

"Stanley, you have a look in your eye," the Narrator starts, though Stanley is already heading for the couch. A stack of newspapers from the week before is then pulled out from beneath it, and before setting them upon the cushions, Stanley pauses. He couldn't believe it had only been a day.  
  


 

All of those resets, all of that dialogue.  
  


 

He'd been running in circles till infinity.  
  


 

(And for all he knew, he could still be running now.)  
  
  
  
When the Narrator finally steps out from the bedroom, Stanley is sitting amidst a scattered array of newspapers. His teeth are set firmly on the end of a ballpoint pen in his right hand, his other gripping a page from the local paper. It's opened to the careers section, and a few positions are even circled in blue. Once taking note of the concentration in Stanley's face, the Narrator is quiet when taking a seat beside him, the cushions drawing downwards—though only slightly—as he sits. Stanley doesn't seem to notice.  
  


 

The Narrator then scans through the list of marked advertisements:  
  


 

Museum night guard  
  


 

Starbucks barista  
  


 

UPS delivery  
  


 

Bartender at a nearby pub  
  


 

The Narrator stops to see what he believes is an ad for a desk job vigorously scribbled out. There's dedication in how thoroughly the offer is scribbled out, and the Narrator feels a slight wave of guilt when he actually starts to realize its connotation.  
  


 

He spares a glance at Stanley, but the man is too engaged reading into the barista position, and the Narrator is almost glad.  
  


 

He almost feels as if an apology is at his lips, but he restrains himself. How could he have been so blind? Of course there would be repercussions from Stanley's time at the office.  
  


 

The thought hurts the Narrator more than he expects, and he finds it bittersweet that he can still feel things like regret.  
  


 

<-=•=->

  
  


The apartment is a mess by 6:30PM, but there's progress amidst the chaos, and that's good enough for both.  
  


 

Stanley is close to passing out on the couch, now covered in a duvet of stray papers from a variety of news outlets.  
  


 

 _The Guardian_ makes for a comfortable makeshift pillow for the Narrator, lying in a relatively uncomfortable position on the floor.  
  


 

It's not the first time the two have worked together, but both are equally surprised with their joint efficiency. The silence in the apartment is almost comfortable, and that too is surprising.  
  


 

Stanley hopes it stays come morning.

 


End file.
